


Dark Grey Sheets (And Being In Big, Stupid Love)

by Rhidee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Boundaries, Crowley (Good Omens) Has Venom, Denial, Developing Relationship, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Kinda?, Kneeling, M/M, PWP with plot, Relationship Talks, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), Thighs, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhidee/pseuds/Rhidee
Summary: It started with sheets.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 113





	Dark Grey Sheets (And Being In Big, Stupid Love)

It started with sheets.

Or, it started with a very long time of dancing around the issue, but for Aziraphale, at least, it started with the sheets.

Dark grey, some new aged fabric, supposed to be softer than anything and mold resistant and good for acne, or some dreadful mix of partial truths that Crowley most certainly had taken credit for.

Aziraphale rather thought that there was no need for all that hubbub, and that the comfort of the same armchair for a couple hundred years was worth so much more than that.

But then, fuck, the _sheets._ Or maybe, just, that moment, when he had popped over to Crowley’s for some reason or the other, distracted by his own thoughts, and wandered in to see Crowley.

In the sheets.

And, oh lord, he looked splendid. The picture of decadence. He looked like he was laid about like an artwork in the flesh, as if the heavy oil paint had melted off the floor and left the visage shining smooth.

Aziraphale had, suddenly, become incredibly invested in sheets.

He felt like he was in Green Eggs and Ham, and although he can’t say he enjoyed that literary work at all, it is dreadfully catchy.

He thought about sheets in a house. (Warlock and Adam taking turns jumping on a trampoline, the them urging them on and tossing bouncy balls in rapidly.)

He thought about sheets with a mouse. (“How did you get in here!?” He cried, before miracling the mouse away to what he was sure was a very nice cupboard somewhere. He knelt, inspecting his books for damage, and found the books were not at all damaged, but a tuft of cotton had been built under a shelf. He had huffed, thought that if Crowley were a mouse his bed would be so much nicer, and off he went.)

He thought about sheets in a car, (Crowley’s legs flexed as he pushed the pedals, like he’d flex if- no.). He thought about sheets in the dark, (Would Crowley be frightened, if he pushed him down gently, or would he smile, say ‘I knew I could tempt you, Angel’, pull Aziraphale atop him and-. Aziraphale gave a stern look until the lights came back on, shoved his nose as deep in a book as a bird shoves it’s head in the sand).

He could not, would not, think about sheets. Not here, not there, not anywhere.

(It didn’t work for Guy, it did not work for Aziraphale.)

-

So maybe Aziraphale thought about the sheets a lot.

(Kissing Crowley softly, pushing him against the sheets, pushing him _down_ , making him rut desperate against those blasted sheets-)

It was just a little earworm of a thought! Happens to the best of us, of course.

(Lust? Was this lust? Aziraphale daydreamed of kissing eyebrows like the most cherished gold, of tugging hair back and exposing Crowley’s throat, of saying ‘Kneel’ but worshipping him instead. It was both. Was that a sin? Love so deep, you want to pull another in? Maybe, maybe, Aziraphale thought. But. Well, Crowley seemed the type to jump right in. Surely, love that makes you want to see someone in all their varieties, love that makes you want to see them laugh and support them when they cry and see how angry they can get and help them follow their wants, surely that love is not sinful.)

There weren’t sides, anymore. It was just him, and Crowley. 

( _His._ )

-

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he liked thinking how he thought. He didn’t feel secure, he felt unbound, wild, dangerous. He could have buttoned up his thoughts, stepped them low until he smashed those parts of himself, picked the pieces out whenever he found them still. He could have bottled it up like a powder keg, blown up and pulled Crowley close, stoppable at a no, but who’s brave enough for that?

There’s nothing more frightening than knowing you’re fallible.

Aziraphale was a being of love. And love is one of the most powerful things. He did not want to be swept away by it. He wanted to feel it lap his ankles, like standing on the beach. Wanted to step hand in hand, fully knowing the situation, Crowley by his side. He wanted to draw Crowley in, and wanted to be drawn in by turn. He wanted to buoy his dear in the water, wanted to splash in fun, to explore the deeps hand and hand.

He didn’t want to smash his emotions (his sin?), as Heaven would encourage. He didn’t want to keep it close, until he burned with it, like Hell would love. He wanted to hold Crowley’s hand, sitting side by side, and make requests that could be responded to with a “no, angel”. He wanted to offer his heart, and be able to hold it if Crowley didn’t want it. He wanted to lean forward, and have his dearest lean the rest of the way.

He wanted Crowley close, wanted him on his knees. But with a pillow beneath, with a smile on his face, with the love and trust of being able to stop Aziraphale, to pause to stretch, to say what he likes and what he doesn’t.

He wanted to submit to the trust involved in letting someone kneel to you, he wanted to bow to Crowley in words while Crowley bowed to him in actions.

Love, lust.

Trust.

-

It didn’t happen all at once. One could say it’s overdue, that perhaps it requires a little speeding, but that’s foolish. Aziraphale let his intentions be known clearly, but slowly.

(“Crowley, my dear?” “Yes, angel?” “I think I’d rather like to romance you.”

Crowley stumbled in his walk, choked a little. Aziraphale stood close in case he needed to be steadied. He did not touch.

“Oh?” Crowley croaked. Looked away for a long while, before smiling soft.

“I suppose you best get to it, then.”)

He took Crowley on dates. As in, precisely the kind of dates Crowley would like. Lovely restaurants, where Crowley could watch Aziraphale light up, a mushy expression on his face. But also, the most chaotic places he could find.

(“You miracled us to Venice beach?” Crowley laughed, delightfully watching a seagull eat a churro from a man’s hand.

“It’s not…precisely to my standards, but I thought you’d get a kick out of it.” Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously, watching a DJ attempt to rev up what was mostly a crowd of college students, giggling in the sun.

“Angel, I _love_ it.” Crowley said, watching with unstoppable delight as police tried to stop a man from climbing a palm tree. He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, dragged him around with delight, as Aziraphale watched with a love-struck expression.

The expression did not let up, even when Crowley talked him into purchasing a terribly tacky bracelet for entirely too much money. And not even when, while biting into churros sold in a small cart, he found them dreadfully burnt.

He could miracle some things better. But, well.

Things were already perfect.)

They grew together, as couples do. They learned where each other felt comfortable being touched. In public, in private. Learned what moods meant for wants, learned that Aziraphale cherished a glancing touch on his lower back, when upset. That Crowley would melt for a cheek kiss, when stressing himself.

They grew together, they found aspects of themselves they didn’t know, saw their own beauty in the others eyes and returned the favor thricefold. They learned what they liked, what they liked together, and what they missed apart. They learned that it was okay to reach out, if they got lonely alone. But that they’d be fine, taking some time to themselves. Crowley still did not find a deep love for books, but enjoyed how Aziraphale liked them. Aziraphale did not get any better at gardening, but listened with unfaked delight when Crowley went on about it.

The trust, to speak on what you love, is a kind of love too.

And it’s that trust, mixed with a hearty dose of embarrassment, and a dash of fear, that brought the flavors together so Aziraphale could speak for what he wanted.

-

“Kneeling, angel?”

“Er, yes. But- Only if you want to, obviously.”

“I honestly have never thought about being the, hm. Kneel-ee.”

“Kneeler?”

“The one who kneels, I suppose. The receiver of the kneel.”

Crowley snorted, a quick thing, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh, and soon they had both tumbled into giggles.

-

“I know the color system, angel. I’m not ignorant to the thing. It’s just never really been a consideration of mine.”

“You’ve lived with humans all this time and you were never tempted to experiment?”

“Plenty of humans who would do that sort of thing on my behalf. I’m hardly a incubus, angel.”

Aziraphale repressed his glance over.

“I suppose not.”

Learning that…all _that_ was more genuine than performance was. Hm. Something.

(And, honestly, rather endearing.)

-

“Oh no- It’s not really about that.”

“It’s in tune with a lot of religious imagery, angel, forgive me if I’m hesitant.”

“I’m- I can’t say that there’s a guarantee that that doesn’t impact me subconsciously, but well. It’s not about that.”

“What is it about, angel?”

“…Catching you. Letting you fall to your most base pieces, being entrusted with such great treasures. Trusting myself to handle them, trusting you to tell me if I fail. Cherishing you on a level so deep that your defense mechanisms can’t fight it. So, you know that you’re loved. Not- not by Her, or by some twisted reward system. But, by me. Because I love you, as you are, without requirements. Unconditionally, because you’re you, and I’m me.”

“…Oh. I. Um. That’s- that’s good.”

“Are you sure, my dear? I do truly mean that we don’t have to do this. I love you, more than I could ever love any action.”

“No I. Um. Jolly good. Right on. Let’s do that, then.”

Aziraphale smiled, amused and endeared, and Crowley smiled flustered back.

-

“My _sheets_ , angel?”

“They look soft!”

Crowley laughed until he cried.

-

“You remember that we can stop at any time?”

“Yes, angel, I recall.”

“For any reason, really. And if I ever initiate and you don’t want it, no matter the reason, just let me know? I won’t press.”

“I trust you, angel.”

“I. I worry sometimes, about my wants, about what I want to do. I’m not perfect, Crowley.”

Crowley blinked slowly, not like incomprehension, but like a cat. Pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead.

“It’s never been about that, you worrywart. It’s about what you _do_.”

Aziraphale blinked. 

“Oh.”

And that was that.

-

“Sleeping?”

“I- Listen, angel, I was…thinking some thoughts, before sleeping. Some moody thoughts. And then some, sexual, sleeping-y thoughts. And I started dozing off, and I thought, ‘I hope this doesn’t awaken anything within me’, and long story short, it did.”

“I’m…not sure I can do that, anytime soon. Maybe, one day? When I trust myself a bit more. But for now, um. Probably not, yeah?”

“Of course, of course. You do know that um, the same things apply to you, right? Like, with the not having to do it, and no pressure?”

“…I think I might forget, sometimes. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Anytime, angel. Now, for the love of someone, can we please not discuss this anymore? The ducks are judging me.”

Aziraphale snorted.

“Not that they have any right to, have you heard about what their penis’ look like? Dreadful.”

“ _ANGEL_.”

-

“I’m- poisonous. Venomous? I don’t- I don’t think it’ll happen anytime soon, as nervous as I am, but if I get uh. Emotional, enough, I tend to go a bit. Snake-y. And if my fangs were to scrape you too harsh-well. You know.”

“Discorporated? Or, whatever it means for our bodies to die now?”

“I figure we’d haunt around as bodyless beings-but, well. No, actually.” Crowley tapped the side of his tooth, which was a normal human’s canine at the moment, “Paralytic.”

Aziraphale hummed. Paused. Gave Crowley a glance.

“Well. I hope this doesn’t awaken anything within me.”

-

“Where are you going?” Crowley teased, as Aziraphale withdrew from their make outs, stretching out as bit as he went.

“Nowhere, dear.” Aziraphale smiled, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“You, on the other hand, are going to kneel on the floor.”

Crowley snorted reflexively, before registering the words. Watched Aziraphale drop the cushion down, watched him smile with a relaxed confidence.

Crowley swallowed, thickly. Unfolded his body, and kneeled at Aziraphale’s feet.

“There’s a good love.” Aziraphale gushed, kissing Crowley’s hair.

“I- I don’t think I want, to be called love right now.” 

Crowley leaned his head on his Angel’s leg, hiding his face in the softness of flesh.

“What term would you prefer?” 

Crowley shrugged.

“Not that?”

Aziraphale smiled, which flustered Crowley enough to cause him to leave a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s knee.

“That’s fine, dear.” Aziraphale said, nudging his demon with his knee.

Crowley flushed, his fingers tightening on his legs.

And Aziraphale smiled, leaned back on his arms, and draped both of his blessed legs along Crowley’s shoulders.

“Hhhhhh” Said Crowley, poetically.

“Hello, dear. What’s your color?”

“Green. Thank you.” Crowley trembled, flushed and vulnerable.

“Such good manners.” Aziraphale cooed, petting a thumb over Crowley’s lips. Crowley bit it, softly insubordinate.

((‘Oh.’ Thought Aziraphale. ‘It most certainly awoke something within me’. He then put it in a box for a later crisis.))

Aziraphale softly pressed his thumb inside Crowley’s mouth. Crowley opened his mouth obediently, open and willing. 

They sat like that for a while, Aziraphale softly sliding his thumb along Crowley’s teeth, along his tongue, exploring his dearest’s mouth. Admiring Crowley’s beautiful eyes, as they got hazier by the minute. Watched his body relax. Aziraphale softly switched to his pointer and middle finger, caught Crowley’s tongue between them.

“Good boy.” Aziraphale said. Crowley made a sound somewhere between a choke, a whine, and a groan. Aziraphale gently tugged Crowley’s tongue, pushing him closer with his legs as he did, and Crowley followed like a charm.

Aziraphale slide his fingers along Crowley’s mouth.

“Close your mouth, dear, and suck me good.”

Crowley’s eyes flutter shut as he does just that, sucking on Aziraphale’s fingers like he was made for it. Aziraphale adjusted himself in his pants, and nearly toppled over without a hand spare to steady him. 

Crowley laughed around his fingers, which felt weird in a delightful and endearing way. They pulled apart, Aziraphale putting his feet back on the ground, Crowley stretching his neck. Looked at each other and smiled.

Crowley leaned up for a kiss, and Aziraphale met him halfway. A chaste, lovely, tender thing. Then Aziraphale held the back of his head, tugged Crowley back by his hair. Gentle pet along his throat.

Crowley slid his legs together, gasping soft and staying oh so still so his angel could peruse him like a good book. Aziraphale kissed along his neck, hand scratching along his scalp, as Crowley thought nothing at all in a comfortable bliss.

“You took me so well, sweetheart. You’re doing exactly what I want and you’re doing it delightfully well.”

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s soft gasp, rubbing a hand across Crowley’s nipples. They were precisely as sensitive as Crowley had made his body to be, which is, not very much, but the mental reality of _Aziraphale_ touching his _chest_ , inspecting him like a fine meal and finding him _perfect_. It. Was a lot.

Aziraphale touched him, admiring, tracing nails along the seams of Crowley’s clothes, taking occasional breaks from looking to touch his lips to different places. To suck and bite, just a tad. To mark Crowley, wonderful, splendid, brilliant Crowley, as his.

Aziraphale smiled, licked into Crowley’s mouth, peppered kisses on his cheeks and his forehead and his nose. Kept a hand tugging his hair, moving him along as Aziraphale wished. Let another hand feel around, scratch Crowley’s thigh through his jeans, squeeze his butt, trace feather light over his cock. Love, lust, trust.

Crowley looked a mess, hair mussed beyond all repair, red trailing down his face, mouth wet, with red shapes sprouting into bruises along his neck. It was beautiful. It was wonderful. Aziraphale couldn’t believe he had the privilege of doing such a thing.

Aziraphale spread his legs, softly pushes Crowley between his thighs. Pets his hair as Crowley breathes shaky on his thigh, smiling as Crowley chases the touch.

“You look lovely down there, my treasure. I like seeing you between my legs.” Aziraphale says. Not necessarily meant as dirty talk, but rather, just what he was feeling. 

Crowley vibrated, like a gong struck, and scales slide up his neck before sliding away. He just breathed for a minute, hands shifting to hold Aziraphale’s shin. Aziraphale rubbed his cheek, grounding, and waited patiently.

After a moment, Crowley opened his eyes. Smiled, embarrassed, but still blissfully flustered. And let his head fall, resting his face on Aziraphale’s stomach.

He could feel Aziraphale’s cock twitch on his chest, over his _heart_ , and it made him feel incredible, overwhelming things that he had no words for. He felt that, and also, the bone deep, reassuring knowledge, that if he wanted to, right now, stop this whole situation, he could. If he got overwhelmed, (and was he? He had to check with himself), if he got overwhelmed, he could stop. They would part, make a few jokes, kiss each other on the cheek, and go hold hands until their respective boners died down. Did he want that? Did he want this to stop, to have the break. He felt like he had been diving in the ocean, and seen amazing, beautiful things, but he didn’t yet know what everything was called.

He did feel overwhelmed, he decided. He kissed Aziraphale’s hand, where it was petting his hair.

“Can we stop?”

Aziraphale beamed, proud and delighted.

“Of course.”

And they did. Simple as that.

-

They really did hold hands, kiss each other on the cheek. They lied down, a small distance apart, on Crowley’s bed. Their bed, even if they hadn’t yet used such words for it. They processed, and blushed to themselves, and occasionally buried their faces in books or phones to distract themselves, or to find words for all the things they had felt.

They were mostly silent, a comfortable sort of thing, like two people enjoying a movie and watching for hidden clues to the plot. There was an occasional question.

“Did you like it when-?“

(“Yes, yes.”)

“Was it okay that I-?”

(“It was fine, but I prefer-“)

“Do you regret it?”

“No, do you?”

Smiles.

“No, not at all.”

They didn’t need to sleep, but sometimes the urge strikes them. They fell asleep, woke up in each other’s arms. Refused to detangle, which lead to an awkward hobble around the place for a bit before they gave up that endeavor. Cleaned up a few messes, that, while they could easily be miracled away, sometimes the trip is about the journey and not the destination.

They giggled, and joked, and Aziraphale placed small kisses on the hickies along Crowley’s neck. Caught him later, preening and posing in a mirror, admiring them. That did wonders for the little niggle of ‘Did I mess up?’ in the back of Aziraphale’s mind.

Yeah, okay, Aziraphale thought, walking back to the bookshop with Crowley, watching him powerwalk through pedestrians.

Maybe it wasn’t really about the sheets, at all.

**Author's Note:**

> ,,,,,,,,,they love each other.
> 
> (Comments are every authors lifeblood so if you had a SINGLE THOUGHT while reading this including 'i wish I had a chicken sandwich right now' I'd be delighted to hear it. Start journaling below even, I don't care, just have fun.)


End file.
